Juliana’s Blog

This past Wednesday, I hit a families’ cat. Her lower body was caught by the weight of my wheel. I felt awful, pulling over, trying to solve a puzzle I lost the pieces to. I wept at what I took away. My day, my week, ruined - a feeling of guilt I’ll never mend.  Last Wednesday, I watched my sister’s cat die. I can’t erase the sight of her body on the road, the stillness after the impact. I moved through the rest of the day on autopilot, stepping onto the bus and heading to school, numb. She will be fine. Mom will fix everything. A lie, I knew. I was sad, but I couldn’t help being relieved. The thoughts echoed and taunted my resolve. At least it wasn’t my cat. On Wednesday, my daughter’s cat died. She bit into me so hard when I lifted her broken body, the pain still radiates. Blood ran, stained her perfect fur as I felt her die. I thought of how I’ll have to tell the rest of my family.  I keep envisioning the little house I was going to set up for her in the garage, the love th...

My sister today, when my brother was picking on her, kept looking at him and saying, “Vhat?” Her exaggerated accent amused my entire family - to my brother’s dismay. I thought it was pretty funny. I don’t think my brother did. There was a girl in my 2nd-grade class who always got picked on for being “weird.” I would join in sometimes too. I thought it was kind of funny. I don’t think she did. Once, I overheard a group of adults mocking a disabled person, imitating the way she walked and laughing about her terminal condition. I didn’t really know how to feel about that. The kids in my elementary school would bully and shove this boy around until he was injured. My mom had told me never to be mean to him. After she said that, I didn’t think it was that funny. At my uncle’s funeral, his veteran brother cracked jokes and laughed while the rest of us cried. My brother unknowingly laughed with him. I didn’t really think that was very funny. When my friends laughed at my little brother, teasi...

Time is a intriguing concept. When I think about the meaning of time, a lot of conflicting ideas come to mind. The human aspect of me wants to visualize the idea, conforming the idea to a definition in a dictionary, with a diagram beside it; maybe it would be a circle, infinite, versatile, aligning with the infamous quote “history repeats itself”; maybe it would be a road, rocky, twisting, the end never quite captured by our simple eyes. But, metaphors and analogies never seem to embody the true essence of time. The more I aim to grasp its fading whisper, the more elusive it becomes, slipping through my desperate fingers, the only true remnant being the wonders of experience my mind grapples to process. The spiritual aspect of me however, compares time to my faith in God. Two concepts that I believe to be true, yet cannot wrap my superficial mind around. However, the difference between time and my Lord is not their conceptualism, but instead their reliability. I look to my devoted fait...

My imagination took hold of me during quarantine. The boredom of loneliness inhibited the extensive outreach my creative mind had, and while I sat and blankly stared at my iPad, I recounted dreams from previous nights. Tales of a life beyond the four walls of my room, in which characters I created became friends and held relationships, something I was shielded from achieving myself. This alternative universe engulfed me, had me lying paralyzed by thoughts for hours at a time, detailing the dreams I desperately clung to internally, yearning for the next episode to commence.

Out of all the prompts from Notre Dame, the one that seemed to pop out far more than the rest  to me was the last one, "What would you fight for?". This is a question that I've given a lot of thought to; what exactly would I fight for, and why is it so important that I would be willing to fight for it? The only thing I could resolve on truly fighting for is my siblings. I would fight for my little brothers and sisters. I'd assume most people would fight for their siblings, as family is generally important and valued by most, but I wouldn't assume they would fight for them with the same passion I would. From a young age, my mom has instilled in me the value and blessings my younger siblings are, that I was destined to be the oldest. According to her, my purpose in my family is to defend and support my younger siblings when they feel they can't fight for themselves, my purpose is to love them with all my heart, and to love them is to fight for them. It would be ...